


Ineffable Gooey Goodness

by Thick Welsh Angel (JackNetley)



Category: Good Omens
Genre: Fluff, M/M, good omens - Freeform, ineffable husbands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 10:11:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19867879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackNetley/pseuds/Thick%20Welsh%20Angel
Summary: Ineffable Good Omens fluff made to make readers feel all fuzzy and gooey inside, and sometimes not.





	1. Strawberry Fields

One moment they were in the bookstore, the next they are in a wonderland made from Crowley’s imagination. What surprises Aziraphale the most is that the area is flowing with a sweet scent as a gentle hot breeze sweeps across the strawberry laden field. The bright red, yellow-seeded fruits are untouched by the wind as their thick leaves break the gust. 

Aziraphale has a sunhat atop his head, the rest of him clad distinctly in a white button-up shirt with his sleeves rolled up, and fitted rather snugly at his torso: a pale yellow waistcoat that complemented his equally coloured trousers and the band of his hat. He’s got the basket in his hand: hand selected bread, pastries, a jug of juice, a pint of milk, the blanket, and last but not least, a good book. 

Despite having seen Crowley only a moment ago, the demon was nowhere to be sighted in the red and green vegetation. Aziraphale turns around, taking in his surroundings - almost as if Crowley is playing tricks on him, but there’s nothing but him out there. 

He picks his way across the fields, careful not to disturb the strawberries as they bask. At their lushness, the angel can’t help but decide to stop briefly and pick one to have a taste. The large berry between his fingers is the perfect red, warmed by the sun above, in all a perfect creation - none more so than biting into the fruit and finding his tastebuds sparking with delight. He let out a pleasured hum, swallowing down the rest of the berry to pick another and continue on his way. 

Aziraphale has the blanket set in what he envisions is the perfect spot for the both of them to sit, and so somewhere in the middle of the unknown sunny Mediterranean paradise - the angel has the quilt spread out on a patch of grass, the food he carefully distributes, though quickly changes his mind as he doesn’t want the sun to spoil the milk or ferment the juice, so he places the extra dish towel he brought over the basket to keep the contents away from direct heat. 

In the meanwhile whilst he waits, he decides to fancy himself to a pastry and crack open his book until Crowley makes his appearance. 

“Sorry for the wait.” Crowley’s presence is made known the moment the demon sets a circular basket of apples down rather heavily. 

“Oh good Lord..” Aziraphale can’t help but look over to see what was holding the demon up for so long.

“Y’know, had to make sure these were fresh.” Crowley announced as he seated himself, “farmers these days are so bloody hard to bribe.” 

“You bribed a farmer for a basket of apples?!”

“Well- Perhaps, but the line at the supermarket was taking an eternity to move up - quite frankly the computer crashed and so it was all hand counted.” Crowley went on, “but, y’know - fuck it, was talking too long so I decided I better hurry and get a move on. I stole them from an orchard.” 

“Crowley!” The angel closed his book. 

“What?” The demon shrugged, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. “What do you have to present?” 

“Well…” Aziraphale exhaled sharply, setting the book aside to move a bit closer to the basket he brought. “I’ve brought milk for myself, some juice for you, some bread, and some pastries.”

The angel was content in lifting the tea towel the slightest to reveal the selection of items he brought, nothing spectacular - though the pastries were his favourite. 

“Lovely.” Crowley remarked, “no wine?” 

“You said this was going to be extraordinarily fine without the wine,” Aziraphale commented, “lest you forget, you insisted.” 

“That’s right.” Crowley gave a curt nod, “cos it is - it’s great. Out here, with the sun going on for miles - strawberries everywhere.” 

“This was quite the surprise.” Aziraphale told him, “nothing hellish at all. Have you tried one of the strawberries?” 

“No.” 

“They’re scrumptious.” The angel mused, “have you had the perfect strawberry? That’s what they are.” 

“Mm.” An unamused hum escaped the demon’s lips, “what if I told you they weren’t real?” 

“I do believe they are, dear - I had two of them.” 

“You what?!” Crowley seemed a bit tense. “This isn’t the garden, Angel - I haven’t got to tempting you to try them yet.”

“It was only two, Crowley.” Aziraphale murmured, “and they were very real. We’re not in the garden.” 

“But the strawberries aren’t real, Angel.” Crowley was back to looking at him. “They’re not perfect at all.” 

“You’ve not tried them.” Aziraphale looked to him. “They’re impeccable.”

“They’re pigments of my mind.” Crowley commented, “this field as we know it is some- dunno, hysterical cock-up.” 

“A beautiful cock-up.” Aziraphale uttered quietly under his breath.

There was a silence between them, Aziraphale shaking his head lightly after a moment. 

“It’s a lovely place.” The angel told him. “But you must try a strawberry, real or not.” 

Crowley said nothing, watching as Aziraphale gazed at him a long moment before searching the basket for the tea towel. The angel couldn’t help but cast a final glance at him after he shut the basket and rose, shying away the slightest that Crowley seemed to have an unending stare behind those dark shades. For all he knew, Crowley could be looking elsewhere - but the slightest of the turn of the demon’s head following him down the grassy terrain told him that Crowley was watching. 

He was a light splotch out in the natural colours of the fields, the sun warm on his arms as he easily plucked the juiciest of the strawberries from only a couple of the plants. There seemed to be a tenseness about them, his gentleness alluring to them, but they remained pristine and regal in the instance that Crowley might make an appearance and detect the slightest of an imperfection. Aziraphale couldn’t help but feel the demon was being hard on himself, if the field was the demon’s imagination as Crowley insisted - it was far lovelier than he ever imagined. 

A good person makes abundant fields, that very well should be a known fact. Crowley was a good person whether he wanted to believe it or not - and the serene scenery of the strawberry fields proved everything Aziraphale secretly had been wanting to prove all along. 

The angel brought his bunch of strawberries back to the picnic blanket where Crowley was basking, the demon had gave up watching Aziraphale and was laying splayed out on his back. The angel smiled warmly, clearing his throat lightly as he settled next to Crowley. 

“These are lovely, every single one of them.” Aziraphale unfolded the tea towel in his lap, taking one of the strawberries to bite into it. 

Once again that sweet spark sends a pleasurable hum escaping his lips, his left hand going to pick another and offer it to the demon basking next to him. 

“Have one.”

“I’m not hungry, Angel.” 

“They’re inexplicable.” 

“Ordinary.” 

“I do believe you’re missing out.” 

Crowley grunted in contempt. 

“I don’t think even Gabriel would think these are half bad.” Aziraphale went on hotly.

Crowley let out an exasperated groan, particularly angered at the mention of the archangel. 

“Give me it.” Crowley growled, snatching the berry from the angel’s fingers and about crushing it in his grasp. 

Aziraphale pursed his lip in silence, watching as Crowley shifted to sit up and look at the berry between his fingers, the demon had already fussed enough to make it look like it was going bad. Perhaps it was anger, his wrath - his distaste suddenly that the strawberry could be Gabriel that made him will the freshness from it. 

“It’s spoiled.” Crowley grunted, “Are you sure you picked the right ones, Angel? This isn’t even fresh.” 

“It was perfectly fine when I handed it to you.” 

Crowley hurled the wilted berry out across the grass, “I’ve told you, Angel - there’s no perfect berries out here.” 

“I do beg to differ.” Aziraphale let out a scoff, “this field Crowley, it’s full of so many magnificent wonders, dear. If a garden like Eden is of God’s own heart, I do believe this field says kind things about yours.” 

Crowley was silent. 

“Take off your sunglasses, dear - you might be able to see everything much more clearly.” 

“I’ve already seen the fields, Angel.” Crowley seemed to fix a hard stare out into the fields. “I made them.”

“And they’re quite perfect.” Aziraphale folded the ends of the tea towel, lifting the berries from his lap and placing them aside so that he could get on his knees. “You’ll see.” 

Aziraphale reached to take the sunglasses from the demon’s face, to which Crowley detested the action greatly. The demon made an attempt to move away, but Aziraphale had pinned his wrist and successfully edged the sunglasses from Crowley’s face. The demon was squeezing his eyes closed. 

“Crowley, dear..” Aziraphale tutted with a sigh, folding the sunglasses and setting them aside next to the picnic basket. 

“I told you I’m not looking, Angel.” Crowley hissed. “I don’t see anything.” 

“All you have to do is open your eyes, Crowley.“ Aziraphale huffed lightly. “Whatever is the matter?”

“I’m allergic to the sun, Angel.” Crowley lied. 

“You damned devil…” Aziraphale exhaled sharply, removing his sunhat from his own head. 

The angel placed the sunhat atop Crowley’s head, withdrawing to rest his hands in his lap. Crowley opened his eyes momentarily to find Aziraphale beaming at him, and by the look in the demon’s eyes there was something else Crowley was seeing. Imagine per say, Aziraphale with the rays in the strawberry fields casting themselves down upon him - making his already glowing radiance shine even more heavenly. That was what Crowley was missing in his paradise, someone to share it with.

“Better dear?” 

“Better.” Crowley mumbled and looked away briefly. 

Aziraphale shifted to take the items from the picnic basket, happily serving Crowley with his juice and an apple. The angel settled next to him to enjoy some milk and pastries. The mention of the strawberries was almost forgotten as they were both happily enjoying each other’s company, that was until that warm breeze carried in the sweet scent of the strawberries in the field once more. 

“You truly are a kind person, least a little.” Aziraphale told him, once more unfolding the tea towel and picking a strawberry. “Enough to make a lovely field of perfect strawberries.” 

“You truly are a bastard, Angel.” Crowley finally leant to take a strawberry himself, pausing after he had the berry to meet Aziraphale’s blue eyes. “Least one enough worth knowing.” 

Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile, biting into his strawberry with an overall good feeling - one he could strongly sense as love. Not just a lovely feeling, but the love of the strawberry fields, the sun, and more particularly the love the demon next to him had for both the fields and Aziraphale himself. It made the angel exuberant, satisfied - whole despite how they’d been betrayed by the ones they took sides with. 

“To the world.” Crowley had toasted him with a rather large strawberry. 

Aziraphale looked his way, finding a shy but ever deepening soft smile come across his lips. The angel leant to pick a strawberry for himself, fixing his posture as he lifted the strawberry to Crowley. 

“To the world.”


	2. Lose the Gut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A peculiar Archangel has a concerning request from a certain department about Aziraphale’s refusal to partake in war - much less know the whereabouts of his assigned flaming sword. Prone to play enforcer in making Aziraphale pull himself together, Gabriel pays the angel an unexpected visit.

It was an early morning, Aziraphale stirred from his sleep by a distinctly familiar and faint aroma of Crowley’s strawberry fields wafting about his room. It was a lovely smell, one which he immediately debunked as the bake shop that had recently opened down the street from his - the Baker was a lovely man and started on pastries quite early. The tantalisingly sweet scent caused his stomach to rumble, perhaps he would pop down and pay a visit and get some treats in the process. 

The angel shuffled, struggling slightly to get up - but with the inevitable will to do so, he managed to work through the effort of his paunch and rather gracefully found himself seated momentarily at the end of his bed. That’s where he sat, simply waking up and believing in good mornings - and perhaps good dreams, that was if that was what that place of Crowley’s could even be called. 

His gaze travelled to the open window, the angel furrowing his brows a bit as he didn’t quite recall ever leaving the window open in the first place. He preferred to keep everything shut when he was falling asleep, particularly to prevent pestilence from creeping in - and by that he meant anything that could potentially cause harm to his hoards of books. But what about that window? 

Aziraphale rose to travel to it and peer out, Soho in the morning was a lovely little place. People still went about, though the streets at this particular early hour weren’t as crowded as per say, near high noon. Still he couldn’t fathom why it had been left open, much less how it could’ve opened in the first place - so his first and immediate reaction was to close it. So he did. 

The angel remained in his silky pyjamas as he went to go make himself some tea for the morning, humming as he went about putting the kettle on and preparing some tea leaves to be placed in once the water came to a boil. He was in an exceptional mood, one which he couldn’t help but think it was perhaps the fact that he had sensed love within Crowley in those strawberry fields - but love for him particularly. 

Had it all been a dream? Had those lovely thoughts really all been pigments of smelling pastries wafting in from the window? Had their little picnic to celebrate saving the world really been made up? 

Aziraphale was close to picking his telephone and ringing up the demon to perhaps ask if he recalled anything of the sorts when there was a knock at the doors. The angel couldn’t help but act startled, he was anything but ready for the day - in fact he had changed the hours for the day to sometime around six or so in the evening simply because he wanted to get some reading done, there was no reason for a customer to be knocking so early. Aside from that, if Crowley was at the door it would be unlikely in the sense the demon always made his own entrances - unless of course the devilish fiend was up to some foolery with the act of the open window. 

“Oh good Lord.” Aziraphale mumbled, feeling a light tinge of pink come across his cheeks at the idea of Crowley seeing him in his nightwear as he headed down a set of stairs to reach the main level. 

Miracling clothes on was not something he was prepared to do as he preferred to put his clothes on himself, and so whoever was at the other end of the door would have to inevitably deal with some curt sharpness about disturbing anyone in such an early hour. He unlocked one of the doors and decided to take a cautious peek.

“Aziraphale.” It was Gabriel. 

“Oh- Gabriel!” Aziraphale was immediately taken aback, the embarrassment spreading on his face as he had no choice but to open the door entirely. “I- wasn’t expecting you.” 

In his entirety, he wasn’t. Gabriel was suppose to leave them, particularly him alone - or so he believed. Gabriel stepped in with a flat laugh, studying rather disapprovingly at the stammering angel in his silky attire, nothing showy - but somewhat materialistically gold and, what was that? Gabriel’s eye seemed to pinpoint on the strain of Aziraphale’s paunch on the lower buttons of the angel’s nightshirt. 

“Trust me, I wasn’t expecting to be here.” The door shut behind Gabriel. “But I can see you’re more comfortable than ever.” 

Aziraphale could only stare stupidly as Gabriel reached in a gesture to poke his stomach, instead the Archangel’s finger hooked into one of the entrances of the straining buttons - causing pins and needles to travel Aziraphale’s limbs as the Archangel’s finger then slid against his flesh and poked back out the upper end to get a better grip on the fabric. He couldn’t fathom why his immediate reaction was to grasp rather protectively at the sides of his belly, but he was entirely off guard when Gabriel tugged him close. 

“Well- I-“ 

“Shut your stupid mouth and listen.” Gabriel’s grip tightened, causing the button to pop and the fabric to tear as he glowered at Aziraphale. “I’m only here for one reason, and one reason only.” 

“A-and that is?” 

“A very concerning report from the Arms Department, I’ve been assigned to whip you back into shape.” Gabriel commented. “Of course this goes at lengths in regards to choosing sides, Aziraphale - you’ve managed to avoid war this time, but this next one won’t be pretty.” 

“Now, I’m certain this is all- really, uncalled for.” One of Aziraphale’s hands went immediately to the upper half of his belly to prevent Gabriel from savagely ruining his clothing further. “Did you forget the hellfire?”

“That’s right, Aziraphale - we’ve decided that your immunity to it would prove to our advantage. If hellfire can’t hurt you, you can’t fall and so now you’re going to be our Spy of Duality.” Gabriel rambled monotonously. “It would give you a good time to redeem yourself for your stupidity.” 

“A-and this, ‘whipping into shape’ - it, Uhm.. I-I don’t follow.” Aziraphale exhaled sharply as Gabriel released him. 

“Sorry? What I mean, that gut of yours has to go.” Gabriel brushed his hands. “War, Aziraphale - you’re not going to win it comfortably. That’s a good quote for your fitness training, remember that one.”

Aziraphale’s face was flushed, the angel reaching a hand to cover his exposed flesh - glancing in slight dismay at the three buttons that Gabriel had been able to bust from his pristine silky shirt. 

“No more sullying your celestial body.” Gabriel went on without any remorse. “Just a heads up, I’ll be cleaning out your refrigerator and preparing your meals. I want to see you up and early for jogging seven days a week; another daily jog in the park in the afternoon-“

“Perhaps I might have this day to- well, uhm- prepare?” Aziraphale suggested lightly. “I- certainly will be of much more help- Uhm, compliance when I’m willing- ready. Wouldn’t you agree?” 

Gabriel paused in disapproval, furrowing his brows in a quick three-second-thought.

“One day amnesty.” He muttered. 

“Certainly…” Aziraphale was burying his rising panic. 

“Good.” Gabriel then decided to make his exit. “Bright and early.” 

“Yes- bright and early.” Aziraphale slammed the doors shut and locked them. 

Things were an impending disaster, Aziraphale was in a complete state of panic as he shuffled about gathering his lost buttons. Gabriel had been rude and evasive, Aziraphale would bring up such behaviour if he knew Michael, Uriel, and Sandalphon (and quite possibly the addition of some other Departments) weren’t in on his demise. At least they hadn’t figured he and Crowley had swapped, but the thought of using his ‘duality’ which wasn’t even his as some form of advantage in some unknown war, in which who knew who he or they would be fighting, was an entirely and wholehearted fucking disaster waiting to happen. 

What was he kidding? This was a disaster! 

Aziraphale’s embarrassment couldn’t deepen any further when the doors were suddenly flung open in a miraculous gesture and Crowley made his appearance in a rather flamboyant and good hearted manner. 

“Hey, Angel - Sorry I couldn’t drop in sooner, figured I might tell you that I saw Gabe sneaking around.” The demon paused at Aziraphale practically on his knees and quite frankly suffering from a bad clothes day. “…he didn’t, pop in here did he?” 

“…Oh- What do you think!?” Aziraphale snapped at him lightly. 

“For heaven’s sake, everything was fine, wasn’t it? He’s not suppose to be here-“ Crowley paused, removing his sunglasses to further assess the situation as the doors immediately came closed behind him. “Did he do this to you?” 

“Yes! He did.” Aziraphale aired emotionally, adverting his gaze to search for the last of his missing buttons. “Oh dear.. I’m missing a button.” 

Crowley skimmed the floor for what the distressed angel was fussing about, much to his own dismay not finding anything of the sorts laying around. He instead decided to offer Aziraphale a hand and further present him with the gifts he had brought - he could deal revenge when his friend was feeling better.

“Never mind that.” Crowley told him. “I brought these.” 

Aziraphale took the demon’s hand, a fist over his belly hiding the two buttons he collected the moment he was on his feet once more. The demon presented him with some fresh pastries almost immediately, Aziraphale softening up a bit at the offerings. 

“Crowley..” The angel found a relieved smile coming about his features, “Well- I, let me dress. Would you mind putting the tea to steep?” 

“M’kay.” Crowley mused, “don’t take too long.” 

Aziraphale shuffled away gratefully, feeling Crowley’s eyes on him the entire time as he disappeared up the stairs to go off to his room and dress. He wouldn’t take too long, he promised himself that - he had some delicious pastries waiting for him. 

Much to the soft Angel’s horrors, his clothing wasn’t having it with him. He fit into his trouser’s perfectly, but when it came to matters of his button-up shirt he daresay his gut had grown overnight. It was concerning, his shirt was snug - but his waistcoat was entirely unbuttonable at the bottom. Miracling some measuring tape, the angel found he had grown two inches in the midsection - that was for fact that his clothing was specifically tailored for him, his measurements were precise and now he had grown past that. 

It was an addition to his already growing disaster, why hadn’t he noticed his pyjamas had grown tight? It was like Gabriel had come to curse him. 

“Angel?” 

Aziraphale had already been ten minutes, staring in the mirror and contemplating how the hell he’d gained to his growling paunch. Could he blame the eating out? Was it in his right mind to? He loved food, but he also believed he had found himself in a balance or so that he could maintain his physique without overdoing it. That was an oblivious overstatement, or perhaps he didn’t necessarily view himself as fat - perhaps podgy, but not fat. 

“Angel? Are you alright?” Crowley walked in on his best friend before the mirror with a tape measure around his lovable gut. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale snapped away the measuring tape, his hands falling slack at his sides. “Oh Crowley- you’re not suppose to be in here!” 

“Angel- What-“

“Don’t look at me!” Aziraphale cradled his gut. 

Crowley staggered backward and dipped out of the room. Silence ensued, Aziraphale remained there - momentarily casting a glance to the doorway to be sure the demon wasn’t there staring at him. He sighed lightly, his gaze shifting back to the mirror - his hands going to grab at his softness and simply stare. He wasn’t ashamed of it, that much he could be certain - but he knew he was no supermodel either. 

“Did Gabe comment on your weight?” Crowley had quite literally materialised next to him. 

“Crowley!” The angel jumped. 

“What? Fuck him.” Crowley brought an arm over his angel’s shoulders, seeming to inspect Aziraphale’s stark plumpness with a minor intrigue. “What’s it matter?” 

“What’s it matter?” Aziraphale stuttered, looking into the mirror at their reflections. “Crowley-“ 

“It doesn’t matter, Angel.” Crowley eased a hand over the centre of Aziraphale’s belly, his palm covering his navel and his fingers gentle on his flesh. 

Aziraphale was immediately hushed, a zap of energy shot through him - causing him to shudder and close his eyes as he exhaled deeply through trembling lips. Crowley’s hand was lightning, and he was some sort of rod - a receiver of the tantalisingly powerful and soothing protective energy of the demonic entity making contact with his solar plexus. Once again it was that love feeling he had felt in the fields, but this time Crowley wasn’t angry - the demon had transferred his love of all Aziraphale’s chunky bits into one powerful touch. 

It hadn’t been a dream after all - no, Crowley loved him. That came with the fact that he wasn’t a supermodel, or a war machine, but a soft warm-hearted, podgy angel - with the tendency to be a bit nippy. Aziraphale found his hand creeping over the demon’s, merely because it felt right - Crowley was cold, but sandwiched between him and his gut, Aziraphale felt the radiance of a thousand suns from within. 

Somewhere in his head he could hear Crowley telling him that he was perfect, that he was perfectly fine the way he was even if he had gained two inches in his midsection. He proposed after all with a relieved sigh that he could merely get his waistcoat adjusted, but that didn’t ward his suspicion that Gabriel had done something. 

“Thank you, Crowley…” Aziraphale finally opened his eyes, finding a single tear sliding from his right eye. 

Crowley caught the tear with his thumb, bringing the warmth of his radiating angel closer to him as they stood before the mirror. 

“You said you lost a button?” Crowley murmured to him. 

“Mhm..” Aziraphale licks his lips lightly. “Somewhere.. Gabriel noticed I wasn’t fitting, supposedly - well, I, mean of course the- you saw.” 

Crowley hummed lightly, Azirapahle watching the demon’s hand as he withdrew from his flesh only to hand off the missing third button of his pyjamas into the angel’s palm. Aziraphale took the distraction as intended, looking up after Crowley snapped his fingers and suddenly his paunch was cradled snugly within the safety of his shirt and waistcoat buttoned up. The demon had made it so that Aziraphale’s waistcoat would cradle and love his paunch, and willed it to always fit even if it grew. 

“The pastries might get cold, Angel.” Crowley murmured to him, withdrawing from the angel’s shoulders to saunter for the exit. 

Aziraphale felt a smile come across his lips, fixing his bow tie before bringing the missing button to rest with the other two at his dresser. That bubbly feeling returned to him as he exited and headed to join Crowley at the table - glad to indulge, more so entirely that he almost forgot about the regimens that Gabriel wanted to put him through. 

“Gabriel was here on purpose.” Aziraphale told him halfway through his third pastry, washing down his bite with a sip of tea. 

“To make fun of you.” Crowley grunted. 

“More than that, dear boy.” Aziraphale wiped at his lips with a napkin. “He’s going to ‘whip me into shape’ for some ‘war’.” 

“I thought I gave him a bloody scare.” Crowley commented tartly. “What /war/?”

“He called me a ‘Spy of Duality’,” Aziraphale went on, “it seems they’re thinking of somehow continuing a form of war because he believes I can’t fall, all whilst forcing me to choose a side. He’s stationed himself here to be my fitness trainer, it’s a disaster.” 

“That didn’t last long, did it? The whole leaving us alone thing.” Crowley straightened in his seat. “I wouldn’t worry about it, we’ll figure something.” 

“We must be quick then, he’s coming tomorrow to cleanse my ways.”

“Nothing a little mayhem can’t fix.”


End file.
